He launches into a description of the research, which sounds hard and boring. The paper is on novel immunotherapy techniques for treating horrible brain tumours. He wants me to do a literature review and has a few links to add to those Dr Prince sent me.

As Jack told you, if you do well and the paper is accepted you can have most of the poster with that, then you present it at our conference.

You write me and we be in touch.

Best regards,

Wolfgang

Then another email, sent five hours later:

Sorry, I forgot. The paper is due in nine weeks. I know not much time but Jack promises me you are a clever writer so it will be all right.

Best regards,

Wolfgang

Jack promises me you are a clever writer! I’m thrilled—and concerned.

‘Do you reckon it’s possible to do a really detailed lit review in nine weeks?’ I ask the rest of the group, who are still arguing about remedial drivers.

‘Yeah, easy,’ the Godfather and Max say almost simultaneously.

Estelle looks sickened. ‘God, why would you want to do that?’

‘Is this Prince’s research?’ Max is interested. ‘I’ve written a few surgical papers. I’ll help you, Kitty.’

‘Good idea—it’ll keep you out of trouble.’ The Godfather looks at Max sternly.

It’s decided. In exchange for Max helping me do the research, I promise to pick him up every Saturday evening after remedial drivers and buy him a beer.

Later that day, Estelle and the Godfather go for a walk to the corner shop, and Max and I sit outside Poo Palace together, listening to the birds.

He looks over at me. ‘Do you think I’m a bad person?’ he asks out of the blue.

‘What?’ I’m genuinely surprised.

His face is creased with worry. ‘Do you?’

‘Of course not!’

‘I just feel like such a fuck-up,’ he says, sounding truly sad. ‘Like, I’m living in the middle of nowhere, I work a million hours a week for barely any money, and then I go and do something as stupid as getting done for drink driving.’

I shake my head. ‘Mate, everyone makes mistakes.’